


Ghost Of A Touch

by SteadyLittleSoldier



Series: Lams oneshots [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Depression, LAMS ANGST, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Modern AU, Sherlock - Freeform, psychiatrist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 04:27:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12335475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SteadyLittleSoldier/pseuds/SteadyLittleSoldier
Summary: Elizabeth leans forward and rests her elbows on her knees. “What happened, Alexander?”“Nothing happened.” says he.“What happened to your husband?”





	Ghost Of A Touch

**Author's Note:**

> If you want tw, check the end note, but it's major spoiler. There's nothing descriptive in the story, promise.

“‘Mornin’…”

A whisper in his ear.

Sweet southern drawl.

A soft chuckle.

Alexander, unfazed, opens his bloodshot eyes without blinking or furrowing his brows against the light of the morning sun streaming into the room. He feels the ghost of warm breath on his neck.

He wasn’t sleeping, just closed his eyes for a while, not tightly. He is past that stage when you think if you close your eyes tightly enough your brain will shut down and you will be able to sleep. No. He closes his eyes softly now, relaxes his jaw and stops it from making his teeth grind.

He sits up on his unruffled bed. Tossing and turning was four and a half months ago. He’s been counting - finding it to be a proper distraction. He lies still now.

He stands up and simply gives the blanket one pull and the bed is made.

The floorboard creaks under his feet as he pads toward the bathroom. He shaves around his perfectly shaped goatee; someone likes it on him.

Twenty fingers slither through his silky wet hair as he massages shampoo on his scalp.

Eyes closed, softly.

A chuckle. Warm breath.

 

A pair of lips brushes against his shoulder from behind as he makes breakfast.

“Hey…”

Soft call.

Arms wrapped around his waist.

“Take another egg.”

Soft, soft voice. As if aware of the small, heavy animal resting inside Alexander’s head.

He cracks another egg, makes two cups of coffee. One black, no sugar. One with milk and two sugars. Mixes it properly; the one it’s made for is very strict about it. Coffee has to be made perfectly. Alexander gets two plates. Baguette. Forks.

He sets the plates on the table across from each other. The cups.

Sitting down, he takes a sip from his cup. Black coffee. It burns a little and tastes like just hot water. His throat seem to tighten a little around the intrusion.

 

John stands idly, leaning against the cabinets with his arms crossed over his chest.

A chuckle.

“Said ‘take another egg’. For  _ yourself. _ ”

Alexander looks blankly. He cuts his omelette and puts it in his mouth.

Nothing can be heard except for the occasional clatter of fork on ceramic.

“Are you gonna tell her?”

Alexander takes his empty plate and cup to the sink.

Alexander takes the other plate and scrapes the food into the bin. Takes the cup and pours the milky coffee down the sink.

“Tell her what?” asks Alexander as he washes the dishes.

“About me. Tell her about me.”

“She knows about you.”

A smile. “Tell her I’m here.”

  
  


Alexander stands before the full length mirror, buttoning his shirt.

“You’re thinner.”

John sits on the bed.

“You need a haircut.”

Minutes later Alexander is tying his shoelaces. He doesn’t struggle anymore. He is calm enough now to not rush it and end up having to do it over and over again. It’s something to be noticed.

A chuckle.

The bed is unruffled. He doesn’t have to pull the blanket again to make it look seamless.

“Bye, J.” says Alexander before locking the door behind him.

 

* * *

He drives over to her office on lunch break. His lunch break is longer than anyone else’s. Washington says he doesn’t mind.

“How’s your blog going?” asks Elizabeth, sitting on a sofa across from him. Her soft, straight hair takes a lighter shade of brown in the sunlight that’s streams in through the glass window.

The soft hum of the air conditioner overhead continues for several moments. Elizabeth places her pen over the notebook and rests her right palm over the other - a sign of absolute patience, as if she has all the time in the world.

_ My session is only forty-five minutes long, doctor. Nobody has all the time in the world. _

“Good. Very good.” he replies.

“You haven’t written a word since your last entry.”

“You checked.”

Elizabeth smiles softly. “You’re my patient. It’s my job.”

Alexander nods slowly. “Okay.”

“If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll stop.”

Alexander shrugs a little, not wanting to say no or give her permission.

Silence stretched on as Alexander notices every bump on the furry carpet and drums his fingers rhythmically slowly on the handle of the sofa.

Elizabeth doesn’t write anything down.

“Is there something you want to tell me, or discuss, or want me to tell you.” she says after a while.

_ 'Tell her about me.' _

Alexander shakes his head from side to side slowly, still very interested in the furry carpet. “No…”

Silence again.

_ How long has it been? _

Elizabeth leans forward and rests her elbows on her knees. “What happened, Alexander?” That wasn’t the tone of inquiry.

“Nothing happened.” says he, pretending to misunderstand the question, looking for more bumps on the carpet.

“What happened to your husband, Alexander?”

“You know that. You know… what happened to him.”

“You need to say it.” Her voice is soft, not with emotions. Professionally soft, like all shrinks.

“I’ve said it before.”

“Say it again. You need to say it out loud, make yourself hear your own voice.”

Finally, Alexander looks up at his psychiatrist. His face blank, does not betray his voice when he speaks next. With a careless shrug he says, “he got shot.”

Elizabeth breathes. “And?” Alexander holds his.

“He got shot, bled out in my arms and died.”

Silence again. The words don’t echo in the silent room. They sound like any other casual conversation. Alexander doesn’t take his eyes off her.

Elizabeth takes a deep breath and straightens up on her sofa. “He died, Alexander. John  _ died _ .”

Alexander nods.

“John died nine months and seventeen days ago.”

Alexander nods again.

“Can you hear me, Alexander?” her voice is soft and Alexander focuses on her voice, maintains eye contact. “Alexander? Can you hear me?”

“Yes, I can hear you, doctor.”

 

* * *

 

  
  


“In the bowl.”

Alexander puts his keys in the bowl just in front of the door. There’s another pair of keys on a keychain that has turtles on them. They look like they might start to rust.

 

When the tiny locks of his hair tickle his forehead as he lies on his side in bed, tender fingers brush them away gingerly.

“Soft…”

Ghost of warm breath against his neck.

“Good night, J.” Alexander closes his eyes softly.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> TW - major character death
> 
> I wrote this at like 5 in the morning instead of sleeping. Also, you can probably tell, there's stuff in there from Sherlock.
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated! Cheers!


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